Arabesque
by kcollinsp
Summary: Kurt is a ballet dancer, studying at Julliard, seen as a protege his entire life and now thrust into the world of New York City dance. Blaine is a freelance composer who needs inspiration-he seems to have lost all his passion for composing and is now content with playing other people's music. This is the story of two people meeting and becoming a vital part of each other.
1. Chapter 1

"You're going to go right from the grand jete into the arabesque. Hold two, three, four extend, and then down."

All ten men in the class marked the jump into the arabesque, stepping over and then continuing to follow the instruction.

"Two chaines with arms in first position, Sean. First one on releve, second in plie, to jump into a back attitude turn, land, tendu to second, prepare on two, into in double pirouette, then right out into four fouettes, to the side for four, back to passé for one turn, and then down into fourth."

All the men had their legs in varying positions, hoping to do last minute reviews before their instructor had them do the entire variation full out.

"Kurt."

The chesnut-haired boy in near the back of the class's head popped up at hearing his name and after seeing that it was his teacher beckoning him over, he ceased his stretching and made his way to the front of the class.

"Yes, Mr. Goya?"

"Kurt, can you tell me why you're not wearing black ballet shoes to class today?" All the boys stopped their review and subtly tried to eavesdrop on the conversation at the sound of their teacher's thick accent becoming more obvious with his fervor.

"Uh, well, these ones went much better with my outfit…?" Kurt said with mock innocence pointing to his white top and black tights, causing a few snickers to sound behind him.

"Mr. Hummel I very well know that you know that this is a professional environment, one where we will adhere to the dress code," Goya said with finality, implying there was to be no discussion. "Now, because you are new to this class, I will not make you leave, but I do ask that you perform the variation now."

Kurt's smirk momentarily faltered into a look of surprise with a hint of fear, but was quickly restored. "Gladly," he said, waiting until the rest of the boys had taken their place on the sides before he nodded to the pianist and began.

Kurt's grand jete was followed with calls of "shoulders down, Mr. Hummel, feet…feet!" and he could here his teacher release an audible groan after his back attitude leap. This reaction was not one that Kurt Hummel had become accustomed to. Not even at his studios as a kid were his teachers this outwardly negative—he was always the poster child, the male ballet protégé, the favorite of the studio—never was he decent or mediocre.

After numerous calls of "extension" during his turn combination, he finally landed, breathing a little heavily from exertion he looked across to see the face of his fellow classmates trying desperately to cover up their awe and surprise at his ability, which gave him a smug sense of accomplishment, before turning to see the unsatisfied face of Mr. Goya.

Kurt, still holding his end position, looked at the man expectantly. Mr. Goya slowly walked up so that he was closer than normal to the boy's face. "Whoever's been telling you that you're the best thing since sliced bread your entire life needs to come to New York and see what your up against," the man turned around on his heal and began to exit the class, causing Kurt to stand up normally before the man stopped in the doorway and turned around, "because I'm not so convinced. Class dismissed."

As Kurt huffed and turned to the side of the studio, he saw the faces of his peers, faces ranging from dumbstruck to smug to trying to control fits of giggles. Kurt rolled his eyes and walked past them, taking off his ballet slippers, pulling up his ABT sweatpants, his American Apparel sweatshirt, and his putting his Uggs on his feet, before quickly packing his bag and leaving the dance studio without a word.

….

Kurt was less loud than his usual self at dinner that night, everyone seeming to notice, but refraining from commenting after one remark was vehemently denied. Just having a bad day, they all supposed. As Trish, a short, brunette from Indiana who specialized in modern jazz techniques, went on and on about this guy she had met at the Starbucks a few blocks down, Kurt continued to stab the salad on his plate with his fork, not eating anything, and looking around, not focusing on any single thing, and definitely not the conversation at hand. He really didn't notice how out of it he was until he heard his name being repeated many times by a shrill voice that could only belong to his friend Zoe.

"What?" He asked, with more venom than he had intended, as he finally found where the sound was coming from.

"Jeez, Kurt. I was just saying that Cass is over there and that maybe he could cheer you up."

Before Kurt could react, he heard a voice behind him teasing, "Cass is where?" before he felt a hand trailing down his back. When he didn't get a reaction from Kurt, he placed his tray on the table in front of him and sat down next to the aforementioned boy, "Hey," he said smiling.

"Hi," Kurt replied non-commitally, going back to stabbing his salad.

"What's up with him?" Cass asked the table, causing Kurt to roll his eyes but refrain from saying anything.

"Beats me," Mike chimed in, "came back from class and has been sulking ever since—"

"You know," Logan began across the table, "Wasn't today his first day in Goya's junior class.?"

"You guys can stop talking about me like I'm not even here," Kurt snapped, finally taking a bite of his salad.

"Dude, we're just trying to help," Matt piped in.

"Don't call me dude," Kurt said as he rolled his eyes again. When everyone stared expectantly at Kurt, he huffed and put his fork down onto his plate, glaring around before finally speaking, "It's nothing, I'm just a little peeved after class today cause it's just different."

"Oh not the best anymore, Hummel?" Cass teased, causing Kurt to halt his speech, turn to the blonde man and give him his best bitch glare. Cass quickly apologized with, "I was only joking, jeez," before lowering his head in a gesture that told Kurt to continue.

"No, I was still the best, but the teacher—he's just a bit of a hard ass. Nothing I can't handle."

Everyone at the table seemed to acknowledge the statement with various "hmms" of assent, knowing that if they tried to contradict him, it would not be a pretty sight. Everyone knew that Kurt Hummel was not only one of the crowned jewels of the freshman class at Julliard for classical ballet, but also had the ego to go with it; and no one wanted to see that ego let loose.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt had been in his room for the past hour stretching and then doing some barre exercises—at least ones he could manage in the small space his room provided—with his desk chair. He knew he had great turn out, but he couldn't help but feel a big insecure when Mr. Goya had pointed something out to him this morning in class. He knows that rationally he should be thinking that Goya just wants a raise out of him, he wants to try and break him; but, something about the man gave Kurt the vibe that he was serious, and that Kurt should listen to everything he said with bated breath. Of course, he would never tell anyone that.

He was facing out towards his window, watching people milling in the promenade from his eighth story window, thanking his non-existent god that his roommate had decided to go over his monologue in the main building—Kurt couldn't help but feel self-conscious practicing with him in the room, and he didn't have the nerve to kick him out. He was on okay terms with David and wanted to keep it that way; nothing says distracting like a roommate quarrel that he would have to deal with the rest of the year. No, Kurt Hummel would rather stay politely aloof.

As he worked into a grand battement and threw his leg to the side, he accidentally knocked over the lamp on David's desk and the bang startled him; but, it was the barely controlled laughter from behind that made him whip his head around.

"Cass, you scared me."

When Cass couldn't control his laughter long enough to get a sentence out, Kurt took one of the sky blue throw pillows off of his bed and threw it at the sophomore.

"Cass." Kurt's notorious death glare was the only thing that could get the older boy to contain his chuckles and get serious.

"Sorry, Kurt. I know you don't like being disturbed but you've been working in here for over an hour and I'm bored." Cass jutted his lip out in a puppy dog pout. Kurt shook his head, but Cass could see the remnants of a smile creep up onto his face.

"I'm sure you have many other friends that can entertain you." Kurt said, pointedly grabbing his chair and going back to his exercises, though no longer kicking in fear of hitting Cass. Before he could get very far, though, he felt Cass incredibly close behind him, whispering in his ear: "Yes, but by far you are the most flexible and sexy. And you're the only one whom I can do this to," he said while grabbing a handful of Kurt's ass to emphasize his point. Kurt took his hand from the chair and slapped Cass' where it was resting on his ass, as a blush overcame his face, determined to pass his icy exterior.

"I'm trying to concentrate," Kurt said without turning around.

"Okay, you want to practice, keep going. I'm just here for corrections."

Kurt scoffed, "I don't need corrections."

"Really, then why have you been practicing a simple barre routine for the past hour."

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed, relenting by going back into fifth position, aligning his posture, and staring straight ahead. He began by doing a set of tendues devant, a la seconde, and derriere, trying hard to concentrate on everything but Cass's steady warm breathing in his ear, and his left arm wrapped around and nestled on Kurt's sternum, and his right floating on his lower back, dangerously close to his ass. Kurt knew that he wasn't going to get anything done like this.

"Tendue out to second and go into plie for me, Kurt," Cass whispered softly into his ear. Kurt shuddered at the soft command, but complied immediately, trying his damndest to think of the most unarousing things, not wanting to let Cass win this game.

Kurt held his plie for a few seconds before Cass ran his hands up and down his chest, "adjusting" his posture, when really was paying more attention to the feel of Kurt's abs under his shirt. Cass's left hand slipped under his shirt and Kurt's legs began to shake.

"Cass, are you done 'adjusting'? Cause this is not the most comfortable position," Kurt said as evenly as possible as Cass' hand began to circle around his left nipple.

"Endurance, Kurt," Cass clucked, but relented, drawing his face back closer to Kurt's so he could again whisper into his ear. "Back into fifth, baby," Kurt huffed at the name but did as he was told, and before he could do anything more, Cass' right hand snaked out around his waist and cupped Kurt through his tights. Kurt immediately took in a sharp intake of breath and pushed himself back into Cass' body behind him. Cass didn't move his hand, but only clucked his tongue, "Now, now, Kurt, this is not the posture of a ballet protégé." And Kurt couldn't even give him one of his signature death glares because Cass had started slowly moving his hand at different pressures, and Kurt seemed only able to think with his dick.

As Cass' movements sped up a bit, he snaked his other hand under Kurt's shirt to toy with his nipples, causing Kurt to let out a barely contained moan as he relaxed even further into Cass' and where he now was able to feel the older boy's hard dick.

Cass pushed his hand into Kurt's tights and clucked his tongue at the feeling, "No dance belt today, Kurt? How scandalous." And took his now almost hard cock into his hand, swiping up and down the shaft a few times before beginning to kiss the back of Kurt's neck.

"Cass…ugh…can we please…can we at least lay down?" Kurt asked breathlessly as he tried to make his way over to the bed, but Cass's arms around his body restricted him.

With one last swipe, Cass took his hand out of the younger man's tights and Kurt turned around to seek more of the pleasure that had just been coursing through his body.

"Sorry, babe, but I've gotta go now anyway. I've got rehearsal in 10 minutes and I'm not changed or stretched." Cass said, giving Kurt a chaste kiss on the lips before turning to leave.

"You're just gonna leave me like this?" Kurt asked incredulously, causing a tiny smirk to appear on Cass' face. "Since when have you been one to turn down sex?"

"When it's the difference between me passing and failing a class, I start to have priorities." At the put out look on Kurt's face, Cass chuckled and kissed him once more before opening the door. "Think of me when you jerk off," were his only fleeting remarks. And then, Kurt was alone, hard and wonton in his room by himself. He let out a huff of annoyance and went to lock the door.

…

"Coop, I'm not a babysitter."

Blaine was rushing around his apartment, searching for one of the shoes that had mysteriously been missing from his closet.

"Squirt, I know—"

"Don't call me that"

"Jeez, okay, Blaine. I know that it's not convenient and I don't want to have to abuse my older brother privileges…"

Cooper's rambling was cut off by a resounding "Yes!" Blaine made triumphantly when he found his shoe under the couch. He was quick to put it on and then rush back to his room to finish his hair.

"Blaine…BLAINE!"

"What, sorry? I put the phone down for a second to try and find my hair gel."

"Dude, I know this is annoying, but I need you. We're family and brothers do this for each other. And he really wants to spend time with you."

"Coop, Sam is nine months old. He can barely say my name let alone express his want to be near me."

Blaine applied a small amount of gel into his curls and tousseled them gently. He quickly turned on the sink with his elbow and washed the gel off his hands as he balanced his cell phone between his shoulder and ear.

"Blaine, I don't think you're grasping the seriousness of my situation. Karen and I haven't had a weekend to ourselves in months. And then before Sam was born she was pregnant forever. And, Bee, she has her smokin' hot bod back now and we seriously need some alone time." Blaine had to chuckle at that. It's true, his brother's wife Karen was attractive. He was gay but along with Rachel McAdams, she, for a second, caused Blaine to question his sexuality. But, only ever for a second because then he got around to thinking about vaginas and boobs and just—ew.

"Blaine? I'm taking your silence as a positive sign…"

Blaine covered his face with his hand as he stilled from his preparation for a moment, thinking. Finally, he gave his brother the answer he wanted to hear.

"Yes, okay Cooper. Yes. I'll babysit your child while you go and have sex with your smokin' hot wife."

"Yes," Cooper did a mini-celebration over the phone and Blaine could tell that his brother was probably jumping up and down in place, "thanks, Bee, you don't know how much this means to me."

As Cooper continued his rambling, Blaine looked at himself in the mirror and thought, _Your 30-year-old, married-with-kids brother is getting more action than you. There's definitely a problem here. _But, he just shook his head and tried to continue on for the rest of the conversation with Cooper.

"Okay Bee, I'll drop Sam off at 10 tomorrow morning. And then Karen and I should be home around dinnertime on Sunday." Blaine heard the screaming of what could only be Samuel Anderson over the phone and knew that their conversation would be coming to a close.

"Duty calls," Cooper soon proclaimed, "thanks again, bro. I owe you one."

"Yah, you do. But yah, go calm your child. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

As soon as Blaine hung up, he glanced at the time on his home screen, having a mini-freak out when he saw it was already 10:15. He was supposed to meet his friends at the club on 52nd in fifteen minutes and he still didn't have a shirt on.

He quickly ran to his closet, picking out a sleek Armani black button up to go with his black slim-fitting pants with a turquoise belt to add some flair. Picking his grey pea coat off the rack, he left his bedroom. Looking in the mirror once and fixing his hair, he grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell before shutting off the lights and bounding out the door. Blaine Anderson would be damned if he didn't get some tonight.

**A/N: Hi everyone. I know A/N's are so annoying but this one's short, I promise. I would just like to thank everyone for reading and for the general positive response. If you are so inclined, reviews make me happy and I'm even open to suggestions. I know a lot of you probably got to this story through Lean On Me, but if you haven't read that, go over to my profile and read it cause I'm really proud of it and it has wayyy more chapters so far, so you'll be entertained for longer. Phew. Okay, I'm done. Thanks again!**


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine could feel the pounding of the base even before he entered into the club. He quickly showed his ID, got his hand stamped, and mentally prepared himself for tonight.

_You will have fun. You will be sexy. You will not get a headache and leave early_.

Clubs had not really been his scene the past year or so, and it was mostly Freddie and Jack that had convinced him to come tonight. It also helped that they were not already a couple and so he wouldn't be the awkward third wheel like he had so often been around Nick and Jeff. But, he just had this incessant need to feel like he was a kid again, and not like the old and boring, 22-year-old, unemployed recent college graduate that he was. He was going to end his pity party with one night, and then he would go back to be responsible Uncle Blaine in the morning.

He spotted Jack at the bar on the far side of the dance floor, meaning he had to do some careful maneuvering among the masses of bodies. He had met Jack in college—the blonde British boy having charmed his way into Blaine's life from the first few days. He and Blaine had never been involved romantically—unless you would call a one-night-stand that both of them were too drunk to remember anything about romantic—but many people had always assumed. By this point they were tired of correcting people and just let it pass; it was like a game for Jack most of the time—they both thought it was hilarious.

Jack picked up his head and recognized Blaine coming over, laughing at his struggle to separate the tightly-packed dancing bodies, before turning back to the bartender and ordering another drink with a wink.

By the time Blaine finally arrived, Jack was handing a dirty martini to Blaine, giving him a small half-hug.

"Where's Freddie?" Blaine tried yelling, without being excessive. He wasn't loud enough by far—the music was loudest here as they were right in the epicenter of the dance floor—but the two had been so accustomed to reading lips that Jack simply smiled and waved back over his shoulder, turning around and grabbing Blaine's hand to lead him through the crowd over to the more private and slightly less loud booths for seating. It was here that he finally spotted his red-headed friend, who was milking a gin and tonic and seemed to be too busy eye-fucking a tall guy a few tables over to notice his friends approaching.

Jack smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes, winking at Blaine, before striding the rest of the way to the table, sliding into the booth next to Freddie and kissing him smack on the lips before looking over and glaring at the guy who had been checking him out. Needless to say, the stranger quickly turned around and went back to his drink.

"Jack, what the fuck was that?" Freddie asked, pushing the taller man off of him and glaring.

"Just a little fun Fred," he answered, ruffling his friend's hair, before turning to Blaine who had slid into the seat across from them and laughing, "can't let you get too carried away yet. The night is so young."

"Yeah, well my night was about to be really awesome until you decided to cockblock," Fred said with less anger, the ends of his mouth tilting up just slightly to reveal the beginnings of a smile.

"Blaine, you look nice. Finally lightening up and deciding to get some tonight?" Freddie smirked.

"Yes, I had so dearly not wanted to get some in a long time, but I've finally come around to deciding that I may in fact want to try sex out. See if it floats my boat," Blaine said before taking a sip of his drink and rolling his eyes.

"So sassy tonight, Anderson. That drink already loosening you up?" Jack asked with a lilt of teasing in his voice.

"It can only mean that you must've drugged it, Jay. Trying to get me into bed?"

"Well, I know that you are especially easy when inebriated…"

"At least I'm only easy when I'm drunk. You're easy all the time."

Jack stuck his tongue out at Blaine before the boys went back to normal conversation. It wasn't until twenty minutes later that Jack was getting to antsy just sitting around and talking and suggested that the boys all go and dance. Blaine was hesitant, but one look from Jack that said "Blaine Anderson, I'm not letting you leave this club tonight without dancing", he figured he'd rather get it over with now. And he used to like dancing a lot, especially the up close and personal kind. It should be easy to jump right back into it.

Blaine was thrust out of his reverie by the feeling of being pushed around, now realizing that he seemed to be in the middle of all of the chaos. He moved independently for a few minutes, soaking in the feel of sweaty bodies all around him with the music overcoming all of his senses. He closed his eyes for a moment, just getting lost in the feeling, before he was jolted once again. When he opened his eyes, he saw a tall, lithe body in front of him, sinfully moving his hips to the beat, in nothing painted-on navy pants, a tight white v-neck, and an open black waistcoat.

Blaine watched the stranger dance for a few minutes, noticing that he didn't seem to be here with anyone in particular. The boy seemed young, at least a few years younger than Blaine and certainly too young to be in this club. He can tell the boy is a few inches taller than him, ass in the incredibly tight pants he's wearing, and as he looks back up, he locks eyes but that's something Blaine has become accustomed to when he stopped growing in his freshman year of high school. He looks down slightly to admire the young man's with the man who has evidently turned around and has just about the most breathtaking blue eyes Blaine has ever seen.

The boy must've noticed that Blaine was staring because there's a hint of a blush trying to creep its way onto his cheeks, but he strongly maintains eye contact, Blaine returning the gesture, unable to comprehend anything else except how beautiful this boy's face is—strong angular jaw line, small nose, and his lips that are pulled into a half smile.

Blaine moved to take a step towards the boy, smiling when he seemed to get an encouraging look from him, taking a few more steps before he was only a few feet away, and could already feel his body aching for more; to be closer. Unfortunately, he was not able to comply to his body's wishes as he was abruptly cut off by a tall, blonde man, who looked to be a few years older than the boy with the blue eyes. From what Blaine could see, there was a look of recognition on the boy's face—either he came here with him or knew him from somewhere else—and sooner than Blaine would've liked, the blonde slipped his arms around the beautiful boy's waist and pulled him closer, so his head was now resting on his shoulder. This position gave the Blaine and the boy the perfect opportunity to make eye contact again. This time, the boy's eyes were still smiling but had a tone of regret, something that Blaine hoped he was the reason for, but was not so sure.

Blaine gave the boy a half smile and a nod before finally turning around and parting with the blue eyes, not willing to subject himself to watching the beautiful boy dance with another man any longer. He needed another drink.

…

They were the most captivating eyes that Kurt had ever seen.

Okay, maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but it was in his nature. And those eyes…even through the dim lighting of the club, he could tell that they were gorgeous. And not to mention, the guy's face. He had tanned olive skin that was sharply contrasted against his dark curly locks and his tight black shirt. Black, Armani shirt to be exact. Oh god, good fashion sense, too. But, after the quick once over, proving to Kurt that the man in fact seemed to have the body of a Greek god, he couldn't help but turn all of his focus to the man's eyes. They were sparkling now as the hint of a smile crept up onto the man's face. Kurt realized in that moment that he had also been smiling and looked down, embarrassed and starting to blush.

That's when the man began to walk towards Kurt, and he was certainly not objecting. There was something inherently charismatic about the man, he could tell from standing just 15 feet away.

He was jostled out of his reverie, his line of sight being interrupted by a drunk Cass, who was suddenly circling his arms around his waist and pulling Kurt tight against his body. Kurt couldn't help but notice the fallen expression on the man's face, and it excited Kurt that he could make someone feel like that, but it also gave him a feeling of sadness; he found himself wishing that he had gotten better acquainted with the man. The man who was now walking back the other way towards the bar. He couldn't help but feel some disappointment in that moment.

"Hey babe, why are you so tense?" Kurt was reminded in that moment that he was currently dancing—or just standing there, really—with Cass.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." Kurt said, resuming his hip movements, causing Cass to groan and fall silent as he reciprocated.

Kurt felt Cass slowly getting hard against his hip, as he felt the older boy kissing his way from Kurt's collarbone, up his neck, and to his ear where he sucked the boy's earlobe into his mouth, playing it with his tongue, before whispering: "So good, Kurt, so good."

At that moment, Kurt felt Cass's hands slide to his ass, grabbing and petting through his jeans, causing Kurt to buck against him. A moan reverberated from Kurt's throat as he began to move his hips in bigger movements, panting heavily as Cass kept kissing and licking his ear, whispering things like, "so hot, Kurt", "oh yes, like that", and "show me those hips, babe". Kurt began to harden himself and when Cass started obviously grinding against Kurt in big movements, he decided it was time for them to go. As he grabbed his jacket from their table, though, he did not see those hazel eyes that were boring into the back of his head, daring him to turn around.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and positive feedback! Keep it coming please! Thanks for reading and I hope you're enjoying everything so far :)**


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